


thieves in the temple

by havisham



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Ficlet, Luxury, M/M, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:22:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23287711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: Elias wins and takes Jon out on the town.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 12
Kudos: 79
Collections: All The Nice Things Flash Exchange 2020





	thieves in the temple

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lovelit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelit/gifts).



“Time is the truest luxury,” Elias told him in a dream. 

They were walking down what seemed like a museum — the lighting, the white walls, the paintings whose eyes naturally followed their every movement — and Jon stopped walking in front of a portrait of an elderly man in Victorian garb, with a pince-nez balanced on his hawkish nose and a pinched, bitter mouth. He didn’t need to look at the plaque to know who that man was. Jonah Magnus, founder of the Magnus Institute, London. 

“I had my doubts about that artist,” Elias remarked, standing next to him. The contrast between himself and the portrait couldn’t be more dramatic. Elias was clean and handsome and dressed in a well-tailored suit. The only wrinkles he had were around his icy green eyes. “I thought he made me look a little like --” 

“Ebenezer Scrooge before his reformation?” 

“Jon,” Elias said reprovingly. “I’ll have you know that I have always been charitable.”

“Charity for evil doesn’t count, Jonah,” Jon snapped. 

“You can still call me Elias,” he replied with an attitude of smug magnanimity. So nothing had changed there. Jon rolled his eyes and tried to wake up.

He couldn’t. He tried again and failed. Elias was watching him patiently. “It’s not a dream, Jon,” he said gently and all at once, Jon remembered. The end of the world. Everything that had followed. All the powers free to roam the Earth. His friends and Martin —

“Sh-h-h,” Elias said, putting a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Dearest Archivist. _My_ Archive. It’s all for the best, you know. There was no way you could have saved them. After all, you doomed them yourself. So why bother with all that grief and guilt? There’s a new world now, Jon. You and I are the only living ones in it.”

There was an ocean of tenderness in Elias’ voice and if Jon had a scrap of humanity left inside him, he would try to tear himself away.

Instead, he looked at Elias, who watched him with rapt attention. Expectation.

“All right,” said Jon, capitulating. “What do you want?”

*

What Elias wanted, it turned out, was a rather prosaic night on the town. The streets of London were clogged with cars and debris, but no people. The only clue to where they’d gone was the twisted, pulsing tentacles that clumped in some corners — Oliver Banks’ doomsday vision transformed into a commonplace sight.

They watched a group of automatons perform La Traviata — it was Elias’ choice; Jon never understood the appeal of opera, even when it wasn't performed by the shrill voices of the damned — and then enjoyed a meal that contained only meat. 

Perhaps _enjoyed_ was a strong word for it, though Elias seemed to relish it. He dabbed the blood away from his lips and asked Jon if he wasn’t hungry. 

Jon studied the strange, undulating patterns on the ceiling of the restaurant and said he wasn’t. It didn’t matter. 

Soon they moved locations, to a penthouse far above the city. Looking out the windows that dominated the room, it wasn’t possible to see much of the landscape below, obscured as it was by the swirling banks of clouds and the hard blue sky above.

If Jon were to press his hand against the windows, he doubted he would touch glass. It was bitterly cold.

But he didn’t need to feel the cold because Elias was pulling him away and stripping him down to just his flesh and taking him apart meticulously. It felt -- wonderful, to let go of Knowing for a little while. After all, at the end of the world, there was little enough to know -- or care -- about than what was in front of him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks my beta! Title from Prince.


End file.
